


In which Luna Lovegood is a time traveler

by aegirine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Department of Mysteries, Gen, Teenage Tom Riddle, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegirine/pseuds/aegirine
Summary: Luna falls into 1942 when she and her friends fight in the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius Black, who she thought was Stubby Boardman, but is actually Harry's godfather.1942 is alright, she supposes, but she'd much rather have 1996 back. 1996 has her father and her friends. 1942 has Ginny's torturer and Harry's Dark Lord nemesis.Actually, now that she thinks about it, 1942 isn't very fun at all.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood & Tom Riddle
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Draconis_patronum for betaing!!

Luna sat on a tall wooden chair, swinging her legs placidly, and quietly watched Headmaster Dippet's face furrow in dismay. Dippet, she reflected, looked like Dumbledore with less hair, but felt entirely different. Instead of a deep, slightly blurred purple, Dippet had swarms of wrackspurts that fuzzed up everything and made it hard to see his pale yellow.

At last, Dippet raised his head towards Luna and sighed. He tapped the bottom of Luna's Quibbler issue against his desk, like it was a stack of papers to sort, and set it aside grimly. 

"Are you sure that this is time travel?"   
He sounded resigned. Luna couldn't really blame him, either. 

What was one to do, when a person suddenly dropped out of nowhere onto their own desk?  
  
Luna's head tilted in thought. "Well," she said, as if it wasn't the umpteenth time he had asked this, "it might not be. But if we don't know what it is, we won't be able to do anything about it, so we should just pretend it's time travel all the same."

Dippet mumbled something under his breath that sounded vaguely expletive and heaved a sigh. "This is highly unusual," he said. "The last case like this was, if I recall, about forty years ago, and the victim died immediately when she returned."

He looked at her for a beat or two, like he was expecting her to react.

"I don't think me crying would change much," said Luna simply, still swinging her legs. 

The Headmaster's expression twisted into an awkward kind of pity. "Yes, well, alright then," he said, which was an awfully long way of saying nothing. "Protocol indicates the time traveler to avoid revealing any future events. I will, of course, contact the Ministry, but I'm afraid there isn't much they can do. For now, continuing your daily life is the most I can offer." 

He eyed her robes skeptically. Luna stared back, but, for once in her life, his gaze swept past the plum earrings and cork necklace, and instead latched onto the scruff marks towards her knees, bits of grit and sand ground into her sides, a slightly wet patch by her upper shoulder only she knew to be blood. Her tie still was blue and bronze, though, and that was what mattered, in the end.

"Ravenclaw, I presume?"   
He continued on without a reply—there was no need for one. "Merrythought is the Head of Ravenclaw House; she can arrange for sleeping quarters. What year are you in?"

Luna's legs stopped swinging. "When will I go back?" 

Dippet coughed. "Pardon?"

"To 1996." She tilted her head slightly. "I don't belong here, and I don't think the future would like it very much if I stayed, see."

She didn't know a lot about time and the future and past—really, one could only know so much when all they knew was the _now_. Only the timorous clockmice truly knew the subject matter back and forth, and they weren't telling. 

She had heard someone talk about time, though, once, in her first year, back before she had discovered the kitchens and still ate breakfast in the Great Hall. It was one of those sayings that she had immediately liked the sound of, even though she hadn't quite understood what a television was at the time, nor what a doctor did.

Luna absently wondered where she was now, in the big, wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey ball of stuff.

The Headmaster looked uncomfortable.

"Miss—Lina Lovegood, was it?"

"Luna."

"Well, Miss Lovegood, you must understand—" he faltered at her inquisitive gaze. "...We don't know. There's no way of telling what will happen to you now."

She couldn't say she was surprised, since he wasn't a timorous clockmouse either. It went down wrong, nonetheless, and made a hollow somewhere in the pit of her stomach. 

"None at all?"

"No." The Headmaster looked older, then, in that moment. Tired. 

Luna thought about Ginny, gritting her teeth against the pain of her sprained ankle amid jets of green and red.   
She thought about the hiss of air over her skin as she missed a dark gray curse by a hair, the crash of tumbling rows of silvery prophecies, shattering into bits of glass and smoke, the whispers of half-remembered voices, just beyond the fluttering curtain.

She thought of her hair fluttering wildly, as she was thrown back towards the gilded closet of time turners. The glass had shattered against her back and dug into her shoulder; gold and glass and sand fell over her, like confetti... the world began to blur...

Luna got to her feet. "Headmaster," she said, and chased away the thoughts. "Did you know that you have quite a large wrackspurt colony following you?"

Dippet looked up, weariness gone in favor of utter confusion, and that was all Luna wanted, really. The tiredness to be gone.

"The cork trees keep them away," she said absently, and then waved it off before he could ask. "What happens now?"

* * *

Professor Merrythought was a witch with stern eyes and short, grey hair. When Luna searched hard, she felt a flicker of orange peek out, but it was gone in an instant. She reminded Luna of Professor Snape, keeping everything so tightly to herself, but then Merrythought smiled slightly and the resemblance was gone.

"Hello," she said, extending a hand towards Luna. "I'm Professor Merrythought, Head of Ravenclaw House." Her grip was firm and warm, like sunlight-warmed wood. 

Luna smiled back, and watched the orange creep out more. It was a dark, husky orange, with edges that glowed and dimmed. "I'm Luna Lovegood," she said. "From 1996."

"Yes; Dippet briefed all the teachers of the situation." The two set off towards Ravenclaw Tower, footsteps echoing in the empty halls. "Now, I've been told that you were finishing your fourth year before you arrived, is that true?"

Luna hummed. "I finished my exams," she said, "but I didn't quite make it to the Feast. Or the House Cup. Or my actual exam results."

She imagined her father, sitting alone on her bed with the quilt they made together on her ninth birthday, holding the envelope of results they should have opened together, and something heavy settled in her chest.   
"We would always go looking for gulping plimpies when I came home," she added quietly. 

She would always make the bait for the plimpy-nets to set in the river while her father brought out the picnic blanket and food. The sun would shine down on them, but not too hot, because it would be that lovely bit of summer where the sun was just starting to warm up. 

They'd go through their annual argument of whether they'd have dessert before lunch, and Luna would always argue that the ice cream would melt, and then when Father pointed out that they had a stasis charm on them, she'd argue that the whibblersnippers would steal them while lunch was being served; and so Father would dramatically give in with a fake-stern "just this once!", and they'd laugh until their stomachs hurt. 

And then, after eating, they'd pull up the gulping plimpy-less nets, because they both knew that it was already too hot in the season for the gulping plimpies; but it wouldn't matter, because they'd get them next year. 

So they would walk in the forest, down the reed path to Mother's grave, and tell her what exciting things happened throughout the year. By then the fireflies would have come out, so they'd give her the last cupcake, which was always pumpkin-chocolate, since that was Mother's favourite; and then they'd walk back home for dinner. 

She would've been home by next week. 

Home didn't even exist, now.

Merrythought looked puzzled but no less concerned at Luna's downcast tone. "I've never heard of any gulping plimpies," she said, "but if you need anything, just ask. I'll try my best." 

"Thank you," said Luna, and wondered why it was now, when she'd been torn from everything she'd known, that people cared. 

The stairs behaved today, twisting up and across to lead straight towards Ravenclaw Tower. Everything was bare and empty. She felt eerie, like a bunch of invisible ghosts were flying through her skin. 

"Where is everyone?" Luna asked.

"School hasn't started yet here. Term starts in a week."

Luna blinked. "Oh."

"I believe Dippet will introduce you as a transfer student," said Merrythought. "I doubt the Ministry will allow you to be openly declared as a time traveller."

They stopped in front of the eagle knocker, the exact same shade of polished bronze it had been when Luna left it fifty years into the future. Merrythought nodded to Luna. "Go ahead."

The voice was soothingly familiar. "What is always ahead of you, but can never be reached?" 

Luna was quiet for a long moment. 

"The future," she said, because that was it; that was the answer, wasn't it? "You can never reach the future."

Merrythought's face suddenly deepened in sympathy.   
"Beautiful deduction," chirped the bird, unaware. 

Luna had never wanted to be wrong before. The door sprung open.

Merrythought frowned. "I'm sorry." The words spun politely around Luna, but had no depth and fell off like bits of paper. The wrackspurts buzzed in her ears, whispering heavy thoughts that tore at her ribcage.

"You're not. Not really," said Luna. "But you don't know me, and it's not your fault, so it's alright."

Merrythought didn't seem to know how to respond, which was normal. People didn't like the truth all that much, she'd come to discover.

"Your room's over here," said the professor instead, and did a twisty thing with the hallway that made a new door slide up from the floor. "It's late, but have you eaten? If you haven't had dinner, I can get the house elves."

"No thanks." Luna hadn't had dinner, but she wasn't hungry, either. "The house elves are probably busy enough with the wrackspurt infestations here, anyway."

"Wrackspurts?"

"They float in and make your brain fuzzy, and whisper bad things in your head, see," said Luna, and then reluctantly added, "I can't think enough good things to make them leave."

Wrackspurts were hard to get rid of, when they settled into your head. It was easy if you caught them early, although the fuzziness was a hard feeling to detect, sometimes. But once they found the crack in your thoughts, crawled in and put down roots inside your head, then the fuzziness would turn into buzzing, and the buzzing into murmurs; and by then, it was much more difficult to remember happiness when the voices in your head were there to whisper all the ugly fears hiding in the corner of your brain.

Merrythought's face flickered between bewilderment and worry, before settling on pity. "I think you need some time to get settled," she said firmly. "Come down for breakfast tomorrow around eight or so, alright?"

At Luna's nod the door shut. "Poor girl," she heard Merrythought mutter faintly, and she could practically see the professor shaking her head behind the sturdy wood door. 

But Luna had been loony and crazy and a few sticks short of a broom   
before, so she didn't mind much. Besides, Merrythought was nice. Being coddled was far more preferable than finding her shoes missing.

"I think I'll take a shower," she said to nobody in particular, and went to find the soap.

* * *

Luna had meant it when she had talked to Dippet: crying didn't help.

She had learnt it when Mother had crumpled to the ground in a flash of red, when Father had retreated to his room and grown wan and thin, when (much, much later) the whispers sprouted up around her and things here and there began to quietly leave her room and wind up in the rafters.

It was only when Luna had decided to look past the sorrow that things slowly healed, piece by piece. Clumsy attempts at breakfast, little painted doodles on the wall, hand-fashioned trinkets to hang by the bedpost— it truly didn't have to be much, just something. A reminder that there was still more to live for, that things were never quite as hopeless as one thought; that there was always the tomorrow, elusive but there, like a crumple-horned snorkack hiding just out of reach—

Luna stood in front of the mirror in the dorm, hair still damp from the shower, and wondered if she could still believe that now.

The dorm room was small, with only one bed and a little bathroom attatched. She had never had a room all to herself at Hogwarts before, but Merrythought had explained that the rooms had already been set in the fifth-year dorms, and Luna didn't think she'd be very welcome among the first-years.

Sometime during her shower, the house elves had cleaned and pressed her robes and set out a spare set of blue striped pajamas. They were too big on her shoulders, and so very drab compared to the set of fuzzy orange sleepwear she favored at night.

Her reflection looked back at her, fatigue replacing any whimsy or cheer.

The mirror said, with a touch of concern, "Did you sleep well, darling?"

"Yes," said Luna. "It's all the things that happened after, see." 

She felt too drained to properly check under the bed for scumbrilic dustnips, even though she knew leaving one there could bring very bad nightmares. So she took the very shiny red bottlecap she kept in her shoe heel and put it by the foot of the bed, within range of the window, and hoped that the dustnips would like the moonlight better than her dreams. Then she hid her earrings and necklace under her pillow, so that the nargles wouldn't find them, and drew up the covers.

The bedspread was soft and light and nothing at all like her thick, handmade blankets. Those were gone, now. 

Luna stared up at the ceiling, which had a crack in it shaped like a thorxacle hiding behind a very fat carrot. Father would like to see it, she thought. Ginny would listen and grin but shake her head, and Neville would ask about the carrot. 

But Father wasn't here, and neither were her friends, and so the crack wasn't at all fun, because it was the sort of thing that was only interesting when one talked about it to others.   
So Luna turned to her side and closed her eyes; and if a few tears slipped out that night, there was nobody to notice it.

* * *

Luna's sleep wasn't the best, but the dustnips must have been satisfied, for no dreams came that night. Everything felt a little less heavy with the new day, too, and Luna hummed dreamily as she got dressed.

"Feel better, dear?" asked the mirror encouragingly.

Luna studied her reflection while she put on her dirigible plum earrings.

"I'm going to go back," she said. The words rose up from inside her, like foam, but with hope instead of soap. Hope-bubbles.

"There's a way. It might be shyer than a crumple-horned snorkack, but I'll find it." Suddenly cheery, she stuck out her right pinky finger in front of the mirror. "And if there isn't a way, I'll invent it, like how Mother did. I promise."

Then, since there wasn't really anyone else to pinky promise her, she turned her right pinky to her left and shook on it herself. 

"Well! That's certainly the spirit," said the mirror, giggling loudly. Luna didn't care, though; this was a promise to herself, not the mirror.

The clock hit eight. She slipped out of her room.

"Oh, good," said Professor Merrythought, just over in the Common Room. She was sitting by a coffee table, where a nice spread had been put out. "Morning, Miss Lovegood. Sleep well?"

"Not really." Luna reached for a croissant. "But I feel better anyway. No dustnips giving me bad dreams."

"Good, good." The professor sounded distracted, glancing from her newspaper to the clock. "The Department of Mysteries would like to examine you today, so right after breakfast we'll be going right to the Ministry."

Luna pulled her croissant apart into smaller flakes of dough.  
"What are they going to do?"

"Question you. Register you too, I'm sure. You'll need a new identity here."

"Oh." Luna considered that for a moment, the notion of shedding her name like a butterfly's chrysallis and climbing into a new one. There'd be no "Loony", this time, if she wanted. But then there'd be no Luna, either, and she had promised to come back from this time as Luna, for Luna—not to anyone else.

"I don't think I'll like it very much," she said at last, honestly.

Merrythought frowned. "You won't have much of a choice. Not with the Department of Mysteries." She looked back at the clock again. "Oh! We should really get going now. Come along!" 

Luna set down her half-eaten croissant and looked on as Merrythought lit the Common Room fireplace and fished out a small box of floo powder. The fire flared green.

Green was a curious colour. It seemed to mean different things all at once, much more than any normal colour ought to. She had felt, sometimes, girls in groups rush across the hallway slowly turn green, and that meant secrets and jealousy and envy. The Slytherins used it in their crest, of course, where it meant cunning and ambition and House pride. Neville worked with it all time in the greenhouses. There it meant life. The Killing Curse, in an almost mocking way, turned it into a symbol of death.

The green flames wavered in a sort of pleading fashion. She blinked and scolded herself a little, because she had gone and overlooked things again. Green meant many things, but sometimes green just wanted to be itself.

"Ministry of Magic!" Merrythought waited until the fire flared, and turned to Luna. "After you, Miss Lovegood."

Luna ducked through the flames and found herself back in the familiar blue halls of the Atrium, where she had followed Harry and his friends to save Sirius yesterday— at least, yesterday for _her_. The Fountain of Magical Brethren sparkled with jets of sparkling water across from the hall, the golden centaur, goblin, and house elf staring just as admiringly up at the wizarding couple as it would in half a century. If it weren't for the bustling hordes of people, the difference would be indistinguishable. But the women all wore short bobs and curled updos, and the men slicked-back waves, and everyone seemed to either be wearing frilled robes or business suits, all looking extremely busy.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Merrythought asked, gesturing a little toward the fountain.

"It's very nice to look at," said Luna. "But I don't think the centaurs and goblins would like it much."

Merrythought laughed. "Bring that up with Kettleburn sometime," she said offhandedly, "he'll have a couple stories to tell."

They stopped at the security desk, which was staffed by a freckled wizard with the name "ERNEST" monogrammed on his robes. He looked supremely disinterested with his circumstances.

ERNEST scratched his chin, eyes half-lidded. "Have an appointment?"

"Eight-thirty slot with Finnian Sawlitt, under Merrythought."

This received a raised eyebrow from ERNEST, but nothing more. With a flick of his wand, a slip of paper zoomed up from a cabinet into his hand. He scanned it briefly, the eyebrow climbing higher. 

"Level nine," he said. "Wands please."

As ERNEST took Luna's wand, she leaned in, eyes wide.

"Don't give up," she whispered encouragingly. "The Ministry's biased. No matter your capitalization, we all have a right to equal opportunities."

ERNEST blinked slowly.

"No," he said flatly, much to Luna's disappointment, and practically shoved the visitor pin into her hands. "Goodbye."

"What was that about?" Merrythought asked on the lift.

"Capitalization rights," said Luna sadly. She didn't elaborate any further, though, because the lift had stopped.

A woman was waiting for them by the hallway of doors. 

If Luna could describe her attitude in one word, it would be _impatient_. Although the witch stood perfectly still in her collared, midnight-blue robes, she herself felt like scarlet to emerald to navy in quick succession. As she and Merrythought exited the lift, the witch's head snapped up to observe them both. At the sight of them, though, something leached out of her, and her posture relaxed slightly.

"Professor Merrythought," said the witch, with a little incline of her head.

Recognition sparked in Merrythought's eyes. "Auriga Black. What a pleasant surprise! I suppose you are taking Luna to Sawlitt?"

"Yes, I am," said Auriga Black, somewhat stiffly. She turned to Luna. "So you're the Lovegood who fell out of time, are you?"

"And into here," agreed Luna.

"I can't say I'm surprised. I don't know any Lovegoods personally, but their relatives always seem to edge into the mysteries of magic far more than others."

"Oh," said Luna, "it wasn't really intentional. I got thrown into the cabinet of time-turners, see."

Merrythought abruptly choked. Auriga turned toward her, expression suddenly sharp.

"I don't suppose you mean our time-turners in the Time Room, do you?"

Before Luna had a chance to answer, the witch shook her head, frustrated. "Nevermind, don't answer that. No asking questions outside of a controlled setting."

Auriga turned back to Merrythought. "I'm afraid you won't be allowed in," she said primly. "Confidentiality."

"Oh, of course. Yes, I'll be back in an hour; is that alright?"

"That's perfect, thank you," said Auriga. She looked at Luna sternly. "Now, follow me and you'll be fine. Don't, and we'll find you within the year. Probably. Understand?"

"That's fine," said Luna. "I wouldn't want to accidentally stumble upon the secret army of heliopaths."

Auriga snorted. "Definitely a Lovegood," she said. "Over here, time traveler."

Finnian Sawlitt was a tall man with a square jaw and salt-and-pepper hair. He had cast several spells over Luna before allowing her into a small chamber by his office.

It was a very clinical-looking room. The table in the middle was made of cold, polished slate, and cabinets of rune-inscribed glass held shelves of potions, whirring instruments, and bottled specimens. In the corner was a large mirror, reflecting not the interior of the room, but rather the cloudy bands of Jupiter's red spot.

"Tea?" asked Sawlitt stonily. Luna had the impression that Sawlitt was not ordinarily a man who opened important matters with tea.

"I'm fine," she said.

This was, apparently, the signal to go ahead, for Sawlitt summoned a quill and some parchment. "A Dictating Quill for the records," he explained, and projected his voice.

"August 25th, 1942, involving Finnian Sawlitt, Unspeakable, and Luna Lovegood, time traveler. Preliminary interview." He fixed his attention on Luna.  
"Please describe the circumstances under which you arrived."

And so she repeated what she had said to Auriga Black and Professor Merrythought earlier in the halls, but with a little more detail, and Sawlitt asked questions—how did time traveling feel like? Were there any worrying symptoms he should know about? How did she enter the Time Room in the first place— general terms only!

"Well, time traveling felt like a lot of light and wooshing and moving around in my skin," said Luna. "It was weird; I got thrown into the cabinet, and I felt the glass hurt my shoulder, but it felt fine when I got here."

Sawlitt looked curious. "What did it look like afterward?"

"Oh, I haven't actually checked." She tugged her robe sleeve up her arm and craned her neck, but the robe kept falling over the spot.

"Allow me," said Sawlitt.

Luna blinked. Her shoulder practically glowed golden, in marks that criss-crossed the pale skin. She ran a hand over her skin. It didn't feel any different from before.

"Huh. That's different."

"These are marks from the time-turners, I presume?"

"I think so." Luna looked back at her shoulder distractedly. "My skin looks heliopath-ish, now."

Sawlitt cleared his throat. "So, how did you manage to enter the Time Room, anyway?"

"Oh, we flew there by threstral because my friend's godfather was in trouble, but it turned out to be a trap by the Dark Lord."

The Unspeakable opened and closed his mouth. At last, he managed a rather strangled, "By _threstral?_ And a Dark Lord! In the Ministry?"

"Yes," said Luna, "but I can't say I really know how he got there."

Sawlitt ruminated on that for a bit, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"You don't have enough information or proof for me to take this up with the Minister," he said at last, scribbling out a note, "but I'll alert the Head Unspeakable, and maybe contact you for a more definitive statement later. We can at least attempt to implement more security."

He sent the letter zooming out the door, and summoned a few forms.

"Now," he said with a sigh, "onto your identity. How familiar are you with muggle culture?"

* * *

Luna stood in front of the Great Hall, feeling the weight of many eyes on her as Dippet introduced her before the Sorting.

"—treat our new transfer student with our hospitality," Dippet was saying. "She has been preliminarily sorted into Ravenclaw—"

At this, there was a visible groan from two whispering boys at the Gryffindor table. Dippet waited disapprovingly.

"Sorry, Headmaster," one of the boys yelled, grinning. "Go on!"

Dippet huffed. "If you will, please welcome Luna Williams to Hogwarts. You may sit down Luna," he added, kindly. "Now, onto the next item..."

A couple of blue-tied girls scooted over to make room. She sat down, feeling intensely artificial.

( _"Only a little bit,"_ she had responded to Sawlitt's question. The most she knew about muggle life were religions, since Father had a fascination with them almost as much as with creatures. Other than that, she only knew tidbits here and there from Ginny complaining about her dad's antics with machinery.

 _"Halfblood will have to do, then,"_ said Sawlitt promptly, and then went about setting up Luna's ancestry. _"Pureblood surnames attract too much scrutiny,"_ he had explained apologetically. _"Williams is a common enough name to go about unnoticed."_

So Lovegood became Williams, and her birth year 1927; her mother a witch and her father a muggle, both of whom had died in an attack by Grindelwald the previous year. Sawlitt found a small town in the countryside that had been decimated around roughly the same time, and noted down what registrations and certificates and obituaries to make, and by the time they were finished, Luna may as well have lived in Shewscombe her whole life. To the rest of the world, she now did.

She had refused to change her first name. _"It's just an uncommon name,"_ Sawlitt told her, but he didn't push. She was grateful for that.

When she had come back to Ravenclaw Tower, she had looked into the mirror and felt a distinct sense of loss. _"Luna Williams,"_ she had said to herself. _"I am Luna Williams."_

She ignored how the name squirmed like an eel in her mouth.)

"I'm Olive Hornby," said one of the girls. Her hair was up in a pleat that curled into silky waves. 

"I'm Luna Williams."   
She wondered, distantly, if Luna Williams was alright with Luna Lovegood pretending to be her. If Luna Williams were real, what would she think about this stranger, coming and stealing her name like a skin-walker stealing a new face?

"I know. Dippet said it." Olive looked Luna up and down. "So how did you get in here?"

"The Sorting Hat sorted me into Ravenclaw."

"I didn't mean _that_ ," said Olive impatiently, her neighbor agreeing. "How'd you get into Hogwarts?"

"Was it from Grindelwald?" A short brunette piped up across from her, previously silent. "All the attacks—"

"Shut up, she wasn't talking to you, Myrtle," snapped Olive, and Myrtle fell silent.

"That wasn't very nice," said Luna quietly.

Olive's eyes narrowed. The aquamarine colour that twirled around her suddenly turned slate gray. "You haven't met Myrtle yet," she said. "She's a little snot who whines all the time, and has glasses too big for her little brain to handle."

Luna tilted her head. "You're getting mad," she observed. "You should be careful. The wrackspurts find mad people easy targets, too."

Olive stared. "What?"

"The wrackspurts," Luna said. "They get into your brain and eat your thoughts, and make your head fuzzy."

Olive giggled, rather high-pitched and nervous, and looked around her, as if to confirm what she had heard. Finding only the four of them as witnesses, she turned dramatically toward her seat-mate. "Did you hear _that_ ," she said. " _Rock-sputs!_ We just got a new girl, and she's already loony!"

Luna wasn't paying attention to Olive. She was looking at the Slytherin table.

A boy with neatly parted hair talked to the student across from him, face set in an easy smile, gleaming prefect badge on his robes. As the conversation lulled, he caught her gaze and looked back.

But that wasn't what she was looking at. 

Amid the rainbows of bright and faded colours, he was completely colourless. Blank.

Olive screeched with laughter, jolting Luna back to the Ravenclaw table.  
"Look at the loon! She thinks she's got a chance with Tom Riddle!"

 _Tom Riddle_ , she repeated in her head absentmindedly, still watching the boy in question.

And then the name registered in her mind. Her eyes widened.

 _Oh_ , she thought, this time much more urgently, _Tom Marvolo Riddle—_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle.
> 
> Luna's heard that name before.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Luna's heard that name before, but not first-hand.

Tom Riddle came from a completely different chapter, in a completely different book. No, Tom Riddle was not hers to tell.

That story belonged to Ginny Weasley.

* * *

In Luna's first year, before she knew anyone or anyone knew her, there was Ginny.

"Three to a boat!" Hagrid had held a swinging lantern up in the dark velvety night, illuminating the ripples of water beside him.  
"Firs' years! Over here!"

Except, by the time Luna got there, there was only one other person left.

"Off you get," said Hagrid as the two climbed into the little boat, still too dark to see the other properly, and suddenly the little lantern on the boat was glowing softly against the night sky.

The girl across from her had smiled. Luna felt her flicker a bright, eager red. Her hair was dark scarlet against the yellow light. "Hi! I'm Ginny."

"I'm Luna," she said back, and added, "I think you live next to me."

Ginny brightened in recognition. "Oh, you're Mr. Lovegood's daughter!" she said. "Mum said that we used to visit them all the time, before—" Ginny broke off abruptly.

"Before Mother died," agreed Luna. Ginny flushed and looked down at her lap.

There wasn't really anything for her to feel guilty for, though, and so after a moment Luna said, "You feel very red, you know."

Ginny looked up quickly, confused. "...Er. I've been told I have red hair, and I get a red face when I'm angry, but I've never heard that I _feel_ red." She checked her arms, then, like she would be able to see the red seep through her skin.

"Well, you do," Luna said decisively. "It's pretty. Like Humdinger eyes."

"Like what?"

"Blibbering humdingers. They're invisible except for their eyes, so they just look like a pair of angry floating marbles."

"Oh," said Ginny, and relapsed awkwardly into silence.

The boat glided gently across the smooth surface of the lake, following the lanterns from the other boats up ahead. They turned past a bank of foliage and Ginny gasped.

"Look at that!" Ginny pointed excitedly to the rocky banks in the distance. "Oh, isn't it beautiful?"

Hogwarts stood there, black against midnight blue. Light streamed out from tall, stony towers, mimicking the pinpricks of starlight in the skies. Wisps of fog tickled the uppermost tips of the rooftops. It towered above them, even from the other side of the lake.

Luna looked at Ginny, eyes reflecting stars and dreams and Hogwarts, and smiled.

Her fingers found the shard of crystal her dad had given her before she'd left. _"For your friendships at Hogwarts,"_ he'd said happily, though Luna had been less than enthusiastic at the time. After all, it had only ever really been Father and Mother and her.

She watched Ginny and felt something bloom tentatively in her chest.

"It's amazing," she said, holding the little crystal tightly, and hoped.

But it didn't quite work out that way. Luna watched as the youngest Weasley was swallowed up by the table of the brave and the bold, and felt desperately lonely in her blue.

And during that year, she watched Ginny begin to quietly disappear.  
Ginny walked into classes with rumpled robes and fell asleep halfway through class. She wandered about the halls, dazed, with a constant expression of confused distress; her red began to fade and wither at the edges into sickly white.

Then the students began to be petrified, and Ginny went missing— and then suddenly, Harry Potter had rescued her, and everyone was happy, and school let out.

But Ginny stayed that shade of dying white. She stayed like that through the Feast, and through the train ride back home, all the way up until Luna found her, sobbing quietly, by the brook between her house and the Burrow.

"Ginny," she said, and sat down besides her.

Ginny stared up at her, a trembling mess of tears and snot and angry, puffy skin. She wiped her face with her sleeve. "Luna?"

"That's me," she agreed. "Are you still Ginny?"

There was no answer.

Luna sat besides her calmly, watching the way the light hit the meadowgrass.  
"I was nine," she began, "when Mother died."

Ginny stilled.

"I don't remember it as clearly, now," said Luna offhandedly. "I let the wrackspurts in too much, and they tried to take it. But that's not what I want to talk about."

She tilted her head, remembering.

"What I really remember," she said, "was the Moon-Frog in my throat."

"Moon-Frog?"  
Ginny's voice cracked hoarsely in the middle of the question, but Luna nodded empathetically.

"Yes, the Moon-Frog. It lived in my heart," she explained. "I couldn't figure it out at first, because I couldn't see it. But it felt cold and slimy, so I narrowed it down to a frog or a newt, and it felt round. So it was a frog."

The water gurgled quietly by Ginny's feet.

"...What happened then?"

Luna touched her throat absentmindedly.

"It ate my words. Every time I tried to say something, the Moon-Frog knew, see, and it'd get there first and gobble it up before I could speak."

Ginny began to say something, but hesitated. A dragonfly passed by her ear.

"How'd you get rid of it?" she asked at last.

"Oh," said Luna quietly, "well, one day, during summer, I went back over to Mother's grave."

(That summer, the day had been so hot that the birds had kept to their nests, silent in the stifling heat. The gravestone had burnt her hand when she touched it, but she had done it anyway, decorating it with purple clover flowers that bloomed in the meadow.)

"I realized what I had to say, was all. The Moon-Frog knew all along, of course. It knew I had to say it, and it helped the only way it knew how."

(The wind had suddenly come, then, rustling gently over her sweaty bangs. Luna stood there, in front of Mother's grave, decorated in flowers she'd never see. The Moon-Frog croaked in her chest, sad and cold and true.)

("Goodbye.")

The wind rustled between them.

Ginny stared at Luna, like she'd never seen her before.

"But how do you know?" Her fingers reached for her own neck, just as Luna had done earlier. "How do you know what to say?"

Luna watched the blanched edges of Ginny's red flutter towards her in a kind of twisted dance, like a bird with a broken wing.

"I can't tell you that," she said. "Only you know."

"And the Moon-Frog," said Ginny.

"And the Moon-Frog," agreed Luna.

Ginny looked into Luna's eyes, searching for something. She bit her lip. Something flashed in her eyes, bloody and pained, fiery and determined.

"It started with the diary," she began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is much shorter, but it needed to have its own chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna isn't sure exactly what to do, now. Ginny's warning echoes in her head.

The rumours had started almost immediately, right there during the Feast, and had spread like wildfire through the Great Hall. Being new, she was already subject to some speculation, but the craning necks and side glances had only started after Olive and her friend had abruptly moved to the other end of the table, so Luna knew it was more than just curiosity.

Still, it was quite impressive. Olive Hornby must have had many connections to carry the news so fast. In her first year in Hogwarts, it had taken nearly a week for all the Ravenclaws to start scooting away from her in the Great Hall and eye her in the hallways.

It had only taken Olive a day.

By the time Luna entered the Common Room, gossip was abound. She couldn't hear them, of course. Ravenclaws were too smart for that. But she felt stares tingle on her back, and colours shrink away from her steps, and she knew.

The whispers carried on as always, she supposed, no matter the time period. Or her name. Luna Williams was shaping up to be just as alienated as Luna Lovegood.

It was familiar, though, and oddly comforting. She would be fine. She'd manage; she always had.

She turned her thoughts toward the research she'd need in order to get back, how she'd have to go through runes and spells and rituals to figure out even where to start. What had happened in the Department of Mysteries after she left, anyway? Had Harry found Sirius? Were they alright? Did time even pass there at all, now?

Well. The future could wait.   
It would wait forever... unless Luna reached for it herself, of course, but she could do that tomorrow. She made her way up to the dorms.

Olive was blocking the entryway, arms crossed smugly. Her lips were very pink, Luna noticed. It brought out the smirk.

"Hello, Olive," said Luna.

The pink smirk widened, and Luna was, very briefly, reminded of Professor Umbridge. "You can't come in, Williams," she cooed.

It took her a bit to remember that _she_ was Williams, now. The surname by itself was easy to forget.

"Oh," said Luna mildly. "Why not?"

"There's no bed for you. You've got nowhere to sleep."

Luna blinked. "Of course I have a bed," she said. "It's in the spare room."

Olive's smirk slipped.   
"What?" she spat, stepping angrily towards her. 

But that meant the threshold was open, so Luna slipped past. 

"Look, it's over here," she said, and tapped on the wood panel to reveal the door. Hornby's face was red, now. 

"Your face looks like a beet," Luna told her.

Olive did not say anything. She stormed into the fifth-year dorm and slammed the door.

"Goodnight," said Luna belatedly. "Don't let the dustnips bite."

There was no response. Luna hadn't really expected one.

She closed the door, and went to sit, cross-legged, on the bed.

She thought about Tom Riddle.

* * *

The day by the creek had been the first and last time Luna had ever heard Ginny speak Tom's name aloud.

He had never quite left her, Luna knew. Some things were too deep to ignore, and so even though Tom Riddle had been destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets, a part of him still lived on in Ginny, had clung to her. Had dug his claws in and whispered to her in her sleep.

Ginny had changed, though. Her faded white edges would never regain their colour, but instead transform into something else; something harder, sharper, stronger. Ginny would never say Tom Riddle's name again; because she didn't need to. She'd said it already. There was no need for a second time.

But she had said it, once. And Luna had listened.

( _"He was the nicest being I had ever met,"_ Ginny had said, eyes distant, hands toying with a nearby blade of grass. _"I told him everything, and he listened and sympathized and understood— but it was all a lie. And I was stupid and ate up every word."_

She had laughed bitterly, then. _"I open up my heart, and what do I get? You-Know-Who, Dark Lord of the century! Mum was right— I didn't know where it kept its brain. Really, what did I expect?"_ )

And now, Luna was here, with a Tom she'd only ever seen flashes of in Ginny's eyes.

How likely was it for her to end up directly on the doorstep of Tom Riddle, future Dark Lord? Had the clockmice peered out at her as she fell past their windowsills, and seen the opportunity? Or had Lady Luck simply spun the wheel?

Luna wondered, suddenly, if there had been a mistake. Maybe, in some strange way, it should have been someone else who crashed into the cabinet. She wasn't Ginny, who had carried Riddle in her soul and came away with scars and steel. Nor was she Harry, whose life was intimately intertwined with Voldemort. 

She barely knew anything about Riddle at all.

Luna sat on the mattress, running a hand absently over the bare bed frame. She had painted her own headboard sometime in her second year and had always brought over a few charms to hang on the posts.

It was all empty, now. She'd have to start over again, she supposed.

A wave of longing crashed over her, strong and deep. She didn't want to be here, in this bare, lonely room with only a crack in the ceiling for company. She didn't want to walk in Luna Williams' skin. She had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do with this Tom Riddle. She desperately missed her friends. 

She wanted to go home.

Luna looked at the puffy, substance-less blanket and the plain grey mattress. Suddenly, sleeping there was unthinkable. She quietly walked over to the door.

It was now past curfew. The Common Room was empty, the fireplace dark. The portraits had either left to their other frames or were snoring quietly in place. Only the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner still kept watch, pendulum swinging dutifully within its glass case.

The eagle knocker let out a soft caw as Luna slipped through, eyes glowing. "Shh," whispered Luna gently, humming fragments of lullabies, and eventually the glow slowly faded back to worn brass. She shivered slightly; she had forgotten to wear her shoes again. Her socks slid over cold tiles.

She stood in the dim torchlight for a moment. Then she was moving, wandering past suits of armour and medieval paintings and a statue of Lachlan the Lanky, holding his equally lean broomstick beside him. She wasn't sure exactly where she was going, but her footsteps were swift and confident.

Around the corner, down a level, through the west corridor— until at last, she came to a stop, and Luna found herself staring at a blank patch of wall opposite to the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

"Oh," breathed Luna. Her fingers reached into her pockets for a coin that wasn't there. Right; she had left the DA galleon in her satchel, and that was sitting in her dorm in 1998.

But the Room of Requirement was here still. It was always there, ready for those who needed it.

Luna slowly made the first pass, then the second, then the third. _Please_ , she thought. She couldn't put the words to it, so she shut her eyes and wished with all her might, hoping that'd be enough. 

_Please. I need—_

And when Luna opened her eyes, a simple wooden door was there, waiting for her.

She opened it and gasped.

The Room of Requirement had transformed into her home bedroom.

And, _oh_ , here was the charm-decorated bed, and the little posters she had stuck on the walls when she was six, and the portrait of Ginny she had finished last summer. Here were her brushes and paint cans laying on the shelves haphazardly, and her thick quilt blankets, and the tree stump carved into a chest of drawers.

A glint on the bookshelf caught her eye. She picked it up. It was her DA galleon, and suddenly she knew that the Room had remembered her.

Luna cradled the galleon in her hands gently, as if it was made of glass. She looked up towards the familiar stone ceiling, eyes wide.

"Thank you."

She thought that she could feel the air warm at that. Just a bit.

Eventually, she'd have to go back. But for now, she was home.

* * *

As expected, Tom was Prefect this year. Orion Black chuckled upon seeing it at the Feast.

"Congrats, Riddle," he said, grey eyes glinting in amusement. "Anticipated nothing less of you."

"It's quite the honour," Tom said neutrally.

"Of course," said Orion. "But I've no doubt you'll represent us well."

Behind that, Tom knew, was the unspoken _despite_.   
_Despite_ his parentage, he would be considered a fellow Slytherin. _Despite_ his background, he would be deemed worthy to represent them, be granted the privilege to be treated as an equal (to a point).

Tom did not like that _despite_.

It would only be temporary, though, and so he could wait. The Chamber of Secrets was not easily revealed, but the reward would be all the sweeter for it— and then, at the end of the day, it would be Tom who held the power. His position would be secured at last, and from then on it would be him who looked down upon the Orions in the world, whose lips curved around that silent _despite_.

He could wait. Patience, as they said, was a virtue.

"Look," sniggered Avery suddenly. "That new girl is staring at you, Riddle. Luna Williams, was it?"

Tom had listened to Dippet's announcement with some curiosity, but hadn't seen much potential from the transfer student's wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look. His interest dropped even further when the Headmaster had declared her to be in Ravenclaw.

Sure enough, the blonde-haired girl was staring at him.

 _Fangirls_ , Tom thought with distaste.

"Looks like you've got a new sweetheart, eh? Bet she's a mudblood."

Lucretia Black scoffed, examining her nails. "As if you'd know anything about admirers, Avery," she said.

Tom sighed as Avery spluttered, insulted. He looked at Orion. Orion looked back. For a split second, there were no politics or power-plays, just two people in complete agreement.

 _Idiots_.

* * *

Lucretia made a face. "Are you sure you have to go, Tom? Pleaase? For me?" She fluttered her eyelashes and patted the cushion next to her.

Tom did not groan, but it was a close thing. "Yes, I am quite sure, Lucretia. Patrols are part of a Prefect's duty."

Avery rolled his eyes. "Oh, knock it off, Lucretia. Of course he's got to go, he's bloody Tom Riddle."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Interesting way of describing me, but I suppose Avery is correct; I take my responsibilities very seriously."

As he left the Common Room, he heard Avery say, exasperatedly: "C'mon, Lucretia, you've known since you've met Tom that he has absolutely no interest in romance."

And then, even fainter: "That's why I try. He's a good challenge, unlike _you_..."

Sometimes, Tom wondered why he bothered. Then he remembered that these were the ones who would grow up to become politicians and delegates and people with connections, and that it was essential to associate himself with them. 

God, it was still irritating, though.

He nodded to the other Prefect, Ophelia Macnair, who was already patrolling the lower floor. He was about to take up station himself when he glanced over to the shifting staircases and caught a glimpse of movement.

He frowned. Prefects weren't supposed to change floors.

"I think I saw something," he said to Ophelia. "Wait here."

The person had descended from the towers to the seventh floor, which was several flights of stairs from the Slytherin dungeons. As he watched, the staircase in question rotated to the opposite side of the floor, which meant that he'd have to go all the way around.

He hopped over the trap step on the third flight, and tapped the right banister on the sixth to avoid turning it into a slide. Hogwarts, for all its quirks, was terribly inefficient. Why hadn't flight been invented yet? Wasn't it possible? He made a quick note to research the matter later.

After a frankly unreasonable amount of time, he found the correct corridor.

It was the transfer student, Luna Williams. Same hair, and same distant look on her face. As he watched, she began to pace back and forth by a blank stretch of wall, eyes closed.

Well, Tom had thought she had looked quite disconnected, but he hadn't known she was insane. He stepped into view— and then stopped.

A door materialized in front of her. Williams slipped into the new room, and the entryway swirled and melted behind her. All of a sudden, Tom was alone, in an empty corridor with only a particularly ugly tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's dancing trolls. 

He walked over to the spot where the door had been and rapped it with his knuckles. It was completely solid. He paced by it experimentally. Nothing happened.

Tom had been in Hogwarts for four years and had never found anything like this. Williams, if Dippet's announcement was to be trusted, had found it within the week. 

He doubted that strongly. 

There had to be more to this than an exceptionally lucky discovery. Suddenly Luna Williams didn't seem as dull as he had first thought. 

Another thought occurred to him. If she knew of this, what else did she know of?

The Chamber of Secrets, perhaps?

His eyes narrowed. Surely not. That was _his_ to claim.

No matter; he'd find out soon enough.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Interesting indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tom. Here we go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts is now in session.

Over the course of the next few days, Luna adjusted herself to her new classes. Most of the curriculum was fairly in line with where she had left off last year. Charms was reviewing growth charms, which she'd never learned, and Herbology was just starting with shrivelfigs, which Sprout had taught halfway through the semester, so Luna figured she would be alright. 

The school was more than accommodating as well. The few teachers she had met so far had taken her privately aside after class, flooding her with a barrage of concerned questions: How was she feeling? Was she adjusting well? Was there anything she needed for their class?

To which she answered: She was feeling a bit hungry, and the wrackspurts were a bit rowdy today, but other than that she was doing well. And oh, by the way, were there any resources that they had about time, in particular?

Most of the classes were with Hufflepuff, same as last year. She supposed it was a tradition, having the two Houses together. The Hufflepuffs were friendly enough, if a little aloof. But that probably wasn't because of them, per se; it was probably because of Olive.

"Why, if it isn't Loony Williams!"

Oh, there she was. Luna looked up from her shrivelfig, work gloves covered in moderately damp, chalky soil. Shrivelfigs weren't dangerous, but the conditions had to be right, or they turned chalky-white and, well, shriveled. 

She had picked the right time to slide into Luna's workspace; Professor Beery was in the opposite end of the greenhouse, distracted by a pair of Hufflepuffs who had accidentally conjured a thick fog instead of a watering charm. The pack of girls behind Olive tittered excitedly.

"It's Luna Williams," said Luna absently. She wondered if Professor Beery would be nice enough to let her take some gurdyroots; they made for excellent protection charms.

"I don't think so," said Olive, sneering. She jammed a gloved finger into Luna's robes, leaving a streak of dirt. "I mean, look at yourself. Rock-spurts! Crumply snort-axes! Your parents must have misspelt your name on the birth certificate. Maybe they were illiterate. Oh, or were they crazy, like you? A whole little family of nutters?" 

This time, Luna looked up and met Olive's gaze. "They named me after the moon," she said firmly, "and they were the best parents ever. Don't talk about them like that."

"Oh, still sweet on your mum and dad, huh?" sneered Olive. "Didn't think it would matter much. Aren't they dead?"

Luna was very good at shrugging off insults, had learned to let the words flow off her like water down her back. But she was still raw, open and bleeding from everything that had happened the past few days, and it stung. She stared, eyes wide, unsure of what to say.

 _"Let me have a go at her,"_ Ginny would have raved, sharp and bright and angry. _"I've got a good Bat-Bogey Hex waiting for her, just watch."_ But Luna didn't have a burning flame like Ginny, didn't have the quick temper stoked with Gryffindor coals.

 _"Ignore them,"_ Neville would've said, steel in his eyes. (He was always stronger for others than he was for himself.) _"It's not worth it. She doesn't know you— you're brilliant."_ But Luna wasn't Neville either, didn't have that steady tenacity that he had deep down.

"They aren't dead," said Luna quietly at last, more to herself than anyone else. Pandora Lovegood would die in a shower of flaming sparks, in beautiful, lovely, horrible blues; but it wasn't time yet. Not even close— and suddenly, for the first time, Luna considered what that meant. Time travel made the curtain between her and her mother no longer quite as impenetrable as it seemed. If she could've fallen into that summer day in 1991, instead of here, and changed the course of that spell—

"Hello! Are you still listening?" Olive snapped her fingers in front of Luna's nose. "Pay attention to me, nutjob! Wow, are the crazy voices in your head that much more important?"

Luna thought about it. "Yes."

Olive's mouth dropped into a furious 'O'. Before she could retort, Professor Beery swept back in, clearing his voice. "That's all for today! Leave the potted shrivelfigs out of the sun, please. Essay on the cultivation and use of shrivelfigs due Friday!"

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures was taught by Professor Kettleburn, a grizzled man with wooden prosthetics. His appearance reminded Luna a lot of Professor Moody. The class was much smaller and more diverse, being an elective, and Kettleburn quickly noticed her as the newcomer.

He glanced at her without pity or sympathy, only nodding at her in acknowledgement. That was nice. Along with the fact that this was Luna's first class without Olive, Care of Magical Creatures was rapidly becoming one of Luna's favorites.

"Welcome back," he said gruffly, after stuffing the class roster back in his pocket. "Since this is OWL year, I reckon we'd better get some review in. Now, who here remembers flobberworms?"

There was a collective sigh. "They're boring," yelled someone behind Luna.

Kettleburn grinned. "Right you are! Absolutely boring. Always the worst week teaching— no injuries whatsoever!" He raised his prosthetic arm and wiggled it. This was apparently a common joke, based on the fond groans scattered throughout the class.

"No," he said, "no flobberworms. I was thinking about streelers. Some students must have brought them in last year, because now there's an infestation by the lake. Quite invasive creatures. It'll make for some good reviewing. Now, partner up, and grab your gloves!"

Oh. Ginny had always been Luna's partner for Care of Magical Creatures. She looked around as the class shifted, quite orderly and quickly, into pairs. Kettleburn surveyed the groups critically.

"Black!" he called. "Would you mind giving a hand here?"

A student with dark hair emerged from the crowd, walking stiffly up to Kettleburn. "Yes?"

"This is Williams here. Why don't you help introduce her, show her the ropes?" 

The boy's colour had felt rather dull, a rusty brown, and it only darkened at that sentence. He looked her over apathetically. It was clear that he did not particularly want to 'show her the ropes'.

"Sure," said Black.

"Perfect! I trust that you'll acquaint yourselves. Everyone over to the eastern bank of the Lake! Follow me!"

Black turned to follow the Professor without a word. She had to sprint a little before catching up with his quick strides. 

"I'm Luna Williams," she said, because she wanted to know him even if he didn't. "Who are you?"

"Alphard Black." His gaze flicked back to her again as they skirted the edge of the Forbidden Forest, then slid away in disinterest.

How odd. "You don't hate me,'" Luna said, rather curious. Blacks were notorious for their traditional views, and Luna Williams was a half-blood. And loony. "I thought you'd dislike me, at the very least, but you just don't care."

Alphard blinked once, twice. Then his head swiveled to look at her again, like an owl. "Why do you think that?" His tone was flat, but his eyes told a different story. Alphard was looking at Luna now, instead of over her.

"Your eyes say so. Everything else says you don't, but eyes are very bad at lying."

The class had passed the Forest and were now by the Lake. Luna could see the snail shells of the streelers on the opposite end. It wasn't very hard to pick out the colourful dots among the smoldering, charred vegetation.

"I've heard rumours of you being crazy," Alphard said slowly. Luna nodded.

"That sounds like Olive. She calls me that all the time— she doesn't think wrackspurts are real, see."

He stared at her, not hatefully, just... observant. Attentive. Quietly, Alphard handed her a pair of dragonhide gloves. She slipped them on and tied her hair back, spelling on an eye-protecting charm.

"I don't see a lot of Slytherins in here," she said conversationally while they plucked off plum-sized streelers and dropped them in the non-corrosive metal trays. (Streeler acid ate away at anything living.) "Do you like this class? Professor Kettleburn seems nice."

Alphard shrugged and plopped another streeler into the tray.

"You don't talk much," she said matter-of-factly. "That's okay. I can stop, if you want. Unless you're the type that likes to listen."

He shrugged again.

"Okay," she said, and started humming instead. They worked wordlessly until the period was nearly over. 

Alphard scourgifed the gloves. The streeler tray and scorched weeds floated over to rest by the growing pile of refuse. He moved his wand in precise, elegant strokes.

"What was the song?" he asked, without taking his eyes off his wand

She stopped humming, surprised. "Oh, it's a song to a poem. The Salamander and the Moon," she said. "It's old, but it comes again every now and then."

"A salamander?"

"Oh, yes. They're friends, the Salamander and the Moon. They fit well together, don't you think?"

He gave her another look. She beamed, because it was a puzzled look, but not a judgmental, condescending one.

"I like you," she decided. "You're nice."

Done, the class streamed back into the castle for lunch. Luna shouldered her second-hand bag. Library first. It was time to start her project.

* * *

Tom's plan was simple: approach Luna Williams in class and turn on his charm. Fangirls were the easiest to deal with, though dull; there was no need to complicate the situation.

The plan was perfectly fine. Worm his way into Williams' life/graces/heart (he wasn't picky; any would do), then figure out what exactly was going on. Legilimency would be easier, of course, but he was... less than adept at subtlety in that field just yet, and unwilling to risk detection over such a simple matter.

And yet, there was a problem. It was simple, and stupid, and extremely irritating.

He couldn't talk to Williams, _if Williams wasn't there._

Yes, Tom had been aware that Slytherin shared many of their classes with Gryffindor, but he'd never noticed the extent of it! The only times Slytherin shared classes with Ravenclaw were Thursday Potions classes, and Friday Defense sessions. It was absurd, especially when compared to Gryffindor, which he saw multiple times every day.

He ripped into his chicken with a grimace. The Great Hall exploded into cheerful chatter, unaware of his annoyance.

Lunch had come and gone without a single appearance. Even at dinner, the transfer student wasn't there. Not a flash of her long, pale-blonde hair at the Ravenclaw table. Ridiculous. What was she doing, eating in the Lake with the Giant Squid? Why wasn't she _here?_

"Wow, you've been quiet," said Avery, turning away from Lestrange's complaints over the homework load. Orion was watching now, calculatingly, off to the sides. "What's gotten into you today?"

Tom internally bristled. Even though Avery was right, and Tom _was_ irritated, he wasn't supposed to know. The last thing Tom wanted was to be predictable. That made it all the easier for someone to manipulate him, rather than the other way around. 

Acutely aware of his expression, Tom forced a slight smile. "Oh, it's nothing at all. Just thinking." And then, because he might as well, he added (carefully, only in passing, as if it had only just occurred to him): "Isn't it odd, how many classes we have with the Gryffindors?"

Avery shrugged, uncaring, but Lucretia, eavesdropping, suddenly snorted.

"Tom, darling," she said, "you're brilliant and all, but Merlin, sometimes you're thick."

Anger rose inside of him, but he kept calm. Lucretia, for all her cunning, had little political ambition, and was of no consequence. It was a waste to get angry over her ludicrous comment.

"What is it, then?" he asked.

Lucretia rolled her eyes. "It's always been like this. On average, half of our classes are with Gryffindor every year, and the rest are split between the other two Houses. Same way for Gryffindor, of course, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are in a similar situation, sharing half of their classes with each other. You've just not been paying attention, since you're always so focused on studying."

"How do you know that?" asked Lestrange, digging out his schedule to check.

"Networking," she said simply, like it explained everything. It did.

Avery made a face. "You mean gossip."

"Different words, same thing. When you marry, Avery, you'll do well to have someone experienced in it. Socialites are important to the image of one's family." She paused. "Well. _If_ you marry."

The conversation continued, this time about marriages. Orion set down his goblet and gazed at him questioningly. Tom hated it, because he could tell what Orion's look roughly meant.

_They are right. This is unlike you. What are you hiding?_

Tom glared in response _(sod off)_ and went back to his meal.

"Hey, Tom! We need more bets! Who d'you think Abraxas is contracted with?"

Oh, no. Tom wasn't going to get in this discussion if he could help it.

"I believe I don't have enough experience to say anything," he said quickly.

"Oh, yeah," said Avery casually. "There aren't any marriage contracts for mudblo— err, I mean, muggle-borns. He wouldn't know."

Tom's grip on his fork tightened. A bolt of rage surged through him. "Well, I'll be off," he announced lightly. "You'll find me in the library."

"What? Oh, come on, Riddle, we've still got half an hour left!" protested Avery. "You can't possibly have that much homework yet, it's only the first week!"

"You'd be surprised," said Lestrange bitterly.

"Let him go," said Orion. He looked at Tom, eyes glittering in amusement. "We all know Tom. Always in a rush to get more knowledge."

Tom seethed, but nodded. They were blind, immersed in their traditions and bloated on their fortunes. And yet, disgustingly, he needed them.

He'd play by their rules. For now, there was a certain corridor on the seventh floor he wanted to investigate.

* * *

"Merlin," commented Macnair as Tom left the Hall, "I swear that he ought to have been a Ravenclaw."

Avery nodded. "He'd fit right in."

(The fact that he'd fit in because of his parentage went unspoken.)

Lestrange shook his head. "He'd die," he said solemnly. "Have you _seen_ the fangirl club they have there? All the girls there are lusting over his giant noggin."

Avery laughed. "You're right. Remember Monday night? That transfer student was staring at him all throughout the Feast, and she's only just come here."

"The transfer student? Luna Williams?" asked a soft voice from the opposite end of the table.

Macnair startled. "Merlin, Alphard, you speak?"

"What's got you talking all of a sudden? What, did Williams catch your eye?" asked Lestrange, sniggering. "Alphard Black's vow of silence finally broken by a girl, eh?"

The Slytherin shook his head, expression unreadable. "No," he said, and relapsed into silence.

"Aw, you're no fun. Hey, Macnair, think I could get away with copying your essay for Binns? I don't think he ever actually reads them..."

Alphard felt someone settle into the empty seat beside him. He didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Hello, cousin," said Orion Black.

"Orion." Alphard nodded formally.

"Is anything troubling you? You normally don't speak much in public."

"Or at all," Alphard muttered. Orion gave a short bark of laughter.

"You are not wrong. If there's anything bothering you, of course— this Luna Williams...?"

Alphard shrugged. "I've heard some rumours, is all."

"Ah." Was that disappointment in Orion's tone? "I'm glad, then. Fare thee well, cousin."

"Fare thee well," echoed Alphard, and cast a glance up at the Great Hall's ceiling.

The sky was a rich indigo, punctuated with pink-tinged clouds. He stared at it a moment longer, then let his eyes drop. His lips twitched. "The Salamander and the Moon," he muttered. "Huh."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit, sorry about that! I'm glad to be back after AP testing, though :)  
> I hope you like this chapter.  
> And thank you, commenters! You made my day!

The Kitchens were warm and bright, bustling with clanking pans and savory smells and cheerful chatter.

A house-elf wandered off from the group and beamed at Luna as she entered with her newly checked-out books. "Hullo, Missy! Does you need help from Jinks?"

Luna grinned, the first true smile of the day. "Hello, Jinks," she said. "I'm Luna. It's nice to meet you. I just want a bite to go, if you don't mind?"

Jinks looked delighted, puffing out her tea-toweled chest. "Is a pleasure to meet you, Missy Luna!" she squeaked up at Luna, and then tilted her ears in confusion. "But Missy, it is dinner! Why aren't you in the Hall with friends?"

"I don't think I have any friends here," said Luna. Jinks gasped in outrage.

"But Missy Luna is so polite!"

She shrugged non-committedly and smiled. "Thank you. That's very kind."

"Is true," said the elf, and then tugged her over to a small wooden table. "Sit, Missy Luna. Jinks will bring food!"

While Luna waited, she set down her books and began to leaf through them. There were very little results for traveling back in time, and (excluding divination) even less about future; and absolutely nothing at all about timorous clockmice. She supposed it was a very obscure topic.

_“The subject of time is a particularly evasive one. Stopping the passage of time on objects appears to be as easy as a simple stasis charm, but upon closer inspection that appears not to be the case. Placing a stasis charm upon living creatures results in death after no more than a few minutes, which is indicative of a cessation of movement rather than time, akin to a petrification. (Grimm, 1645). Moreover—"_

"Here you goes!" A plate of sandwiches and soup floated over to the table. 

Luna looked up from the paragraph. "Oh! Thank you, Jinks."

"Is honor," said the elf brightly. "Be careful with books, though! Missus Pinton be very strict."

Pinton, the 1942 counterpart to Pince, was just as strict as the future librarian-to-be. Luna had gotten more than a few suspicious glares from her when she had checked out her books.

"I know," said Luna. "I'll take care of them. I just have a very big project I want to do."

"Very big?" The elf's eyes were saucer-wide.

She looked at Jinks, and at the oh-so-familiar-but-not-quite room, and sighed. "Very," said Luna. "I'm not even sure it's possible."

"Jinks will help Missy Luna," said Jinks decisively.

She looked at the proud house-elf, eyes eager and ears high. Magical beings didn't have colors, not like Ginny's red and Hermione's lilac. Luna liked to believe it was because their colors were unimaginable, beyond the rainbow. A shade past thinkable. 

She considered the offer seriously. House-elves had their own magic, just like how gnomes and elves and pixies did; magic different from what Luna could ever do. From what wizards, in general, could ever do.

"Do you want to help?" asked Luna.

Jinks looked insulted for a second. "It be Jink's honour!"

"Well," said Luna, thoughtful. "I don't know how much I can say." She recalled the spindly contract she'd signed in the Ministry, with the list of dos and don'ts (except without the dos and with all the don'ts). 

But... none of that had applied to a non-human, had it?

At last, she hummed and knelt in front of the elf. 

"I want to tell you something," she said quietly, putting her finger up to her lips, and Jinks looked up at her, beaming.

"But first," Luna extended her hand, "pinky promise?"

* * *

Tom paced outside the blank stretch of corridor, scowling fiercely.

He was quite sure the pacing had something to do with it— Williams had been very intentional in her actions. No matter what he did, though, the wall remained stubbornly blank. The only thing that changed was his growing urge to hex something.

At last, extremely irritated (he was undoubtedly more powerful than Williams; there was absolutely _no_ reason for him to have any difficulties), he stopped and glared at the wall.

"Show me what you are hiding," he all but snarled, pushing with his magic. "Open!"

The air tensed under his command, rippling. 

The door blinked into existence, like it had always been there from the beginning. Tom's frustration cooled to smug triumph.

He turned the knob and stared. 

Massive piles of objects filled endless archways, ranging from alarm clocks to books to mannequin dolls. The towers of junk were stacked precariously on each other, up and up and up, until even a slight breeze seemed likely to make them topple. He exhaled in wonder and could practically taste the magic in the air. 

Untold secrets lay here, the magic told him. Secrets for him to take, to own. 

Except, of course, not his. He scowled at the thought of Williams waltzing into this room, the same blank-eyed and absent-minded look on her face as before. Unappreciative, undoubtedly, of it all— because what home-schooled village girl would ever possibly know of the deep mysteries that ran through Hogwarts? 

The discovery should have belonged to him. He was the one who was proclaimed as the brightest wizard in his generation. _He_ was the one who had a heritage to claim, and a plan to rise to power. He'd scoured almost every inch of the castle in order to find the Chamber of Secrets and had found a great deal of hidden corridors and secret rooms in the process... and yet this girl simply strode right from Hogwarts and into this place, as if to spite him. 

Tom clenched his jaw, temper flaring. He raised his wand at one of the taller stacks and flicked his wrist sharply. "Confringo," he said, and the pile exploded with a _bang_ , one particularly springy sofa spewing out singed cotton padding like popcorn. Chunks of snapped metal and wood flew past him as he silently cast a protective charm.

He stood there, observing the damage, the chaos created by his spell. He was overthinking it, he reminded himself. This Williams girl was a minor inconvenience, one that could be turned into an advantage if he played his cards right. And Tom would play his cards right.

He checked the time with a murmur and a flick of his wand. Still quite a few hours left to explore. Good. It wouldn't do to make anybody wait, after all.

* * *

Jinks had been an amazing audience, following her explanations marvelously and gasping at exactly the right times. Luna had never had such an engaged listener. It was quite flattering to have someone hang onto every word.

"So, see," explained Luna at last to an enraptured Jinks, "I really must get back. I don't want everyone to worry their heads off about me and end up being attacked by wrackspurts. There's already enough trouble as is, with all the Death Eaters."

"Missy lost her family?" Jinks's eyes were the size of saucers. "Missy lost her _time?_ "

Luna blinked and considered that. "I don't think I lost my time," she said. "It's probably more like time lost me." Time, after all, was always there. She'd never thought about losing something that was everywhere, but she imagined it would be rather hard to do so.

People, on the other hand, only took up a tidbit of space and a snippet of time. Like herself. Like Mother. She could see that happening, time turning around and finding her out of place, like a stuffed toy that had fallen off the bed.

Jinks sniffled, twisting her ear. "Missy must be so brave. Jinks cannot imagine, oh no..." The house-elf wiped her eyes and looked up, distraught. "How can Jinks help? Jinks does not know how."

"That's alright," said Luna. "I don't think anyone here knows. That's why I've got all these books— to see if there's a way."

"But Jinks promised to _help_ ," said Jinks, devastated. "Jinks promised!"

"You listened," said Luna. "That helps. I needed that." 

And she had, though she hadn't known til then, when her shoulders had relaxed, and her breathing had lightened.

She glanced out the window and saw that the sky had darkened considerably. Luna hadn't realized how long she'd been here.

"I have to go now," she said, standing. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

"Whenever Missy wants," said Jinks firmly. "Kitchens always open for Missy. If not, yell for Jinks to unlock!" The house-elf crossed her arms, chin high and ears tall, undoubtedly as a show of competence. "If Missy wants, Jinks will pinks the promise to prove!"

Luna laughed. "Thank you," she said. "And it's called a pinky promise. Here, want me to show you again?"

* * *

When Luna got back to the Common Room, Olive was there. Not that it was a surprise; Olive was turning out to be everywhere, so far. 

Her clique had taken up the royal-blue sofas by the fireplace, chatting noisily amongst themselves. As soon as Luna entered, though, one girl gasped and the rest, perfectly synchronized, all turned towards her. Like a colony of prairie dogs, Luna thought.

"Oh, look! It seems like our resident nutjob crawled back from wherever she was hiding," said Olive.

"Loony Luna!" someone hollered and was met with cheers.

Luna didn't really have anything to say to that, so she just readjusted her book-stuffed satchel and continued towards the dorms. Once it was clear that she wouldn't respond, the room flooded with boos and jeers. The few uninvolved students at the study desks quickly turned away when Luna shot a glance towards them.

It was alright, since it had only ever been words. There had been other things, too, like how her earrings would disappear, or how she'd discover her parchment shredded into dust, but that had never happened to her face. 

It had only ever been words, which was why she was surprised when it suddenly wasn't.

"Accio satchel!" 

Luna flinched in surprise as her bag was yanked on by an invisible force, dragging itself off her arm. She managed to snatch the strap before it came flying off her shoulders, but the damage had been done. Wands flew out from behind ears and out of sleeves.

"Accio ugly shoes!"

"Accio stupid-looking necklace!"

Her shoes jerked out from beneath her, and Luna fell face-first onto the floor. Her butterbeer cork necklace tried to leave as well, except that her neck was in the way. Suddenly an immense pressure was forcing her throat shut, and she couldn't breathe, and her hands flew up to the chain digging into her skin— she couldn't breathe—

Her hands dug at the beaded string, but the force only tightened the longer it went. Couldn’t someone see— didn’t anyone notice— but only jeers reached her ears, murky and all-encompassing, and her view of the floor was quickly fading into a muddled shade of darkening brown—

The thread snapped with a sharp _pop_ as all the shell beads she had painstakingly threaded onto it flew off the string. Time suddenly moved again, voices suddenly reverting into well-defined, intelligible words. She panted, in out in, heart beating like a jobberknoll's wings, tears of pain beading in her eyes, and dimly realized that, in her rush to free her neck, she had let go of her satchel, which was now lying in a heap beside her. 

It seemed that Olive realized this too.

"Accio satch—" she started, but Luna was a DA member, and quicker.

"Protego!" 

Luna did not stop to watch the summoning charm bounce off her shield. She snatched her bag, jumped to her shoe-less feet, and booked it.

There was someone sitting outside one of the dorm doors, staring at Luna as she barreled into the narrow corridor. Her face was faintly familiar through her tear-blurred vision— Myrtle? Yes, Myrtle sounded right.

"Excuse me," she said, breathlessly, mostly by instinct, as she ran past the pigtailed girl. It was only when she locked the door in her room that her brain finally slowed.

She wiped her face roughly with her sleeve and forced herself to take the next breath slowly. Methodically. 

Luna hadn't ever been this panicked. The Department of Mysteries had been rapid-fire spells and running and fighting, and the fear had been just as fast— too quick to sink in. Not this utter helplessness that had stretched the grains of sand in the hourglass into a whole desert.

She went to the bathroom and inspected the inflamed stripe across her neck.

It was very red. The mirror gasped in horror when it saw it.

She pressed the mark and laughed. Olive had done a better job than the Death Eaters. It wasn't too bad, she supposed; it was low enough that it would be covered by her collared shirt.

 _"Constant vigilance,"_ barked Mad-Eye Moody, unbidden, from her mind. Professor Moody had been strict, but a good teacher; Luna wasn't quite sure why he had left. 

_"You'll have to get them,"_ said Ginny grimly, fury boiling just beneath the surface, _"since I can't beat their arses myself. You remember how the Bat-Bogey Hex works, right? Or you could just stupefy them too, I wouldn't mind.”_

Except Ginny and Luna both knew that she couldn't do it, not outside the heat of a confrontation. Luna was many things, but aggressive was never one of them. 

(Sometimes she wondered if she should. If she was missing out on something, not having that fire under her skin.)

The laughter had either died down outside, or the door had muffled the noise; either way, the room felt stagnant, empty. Desolate.

Luna’s hand drifted towards her neck again, but this time, instead of the stinging and pain, she felt the strange lack of weight that had come with the necklace’s absence. She had kept her butterbeer cork necklace to ward off the nargles, though it wasn’t exactly needed here, not when she could fit all her possessions into her satchel and have room to spare.

But still… Luna had made it the summer after first year, when she had returned short five earrings and two pairs of shoes, and she had worn it throughout the rest of her time at Hogwarts. She had fussed with the beads absentmindedly when she struggled with her Transfiguration essays, and only took it off for sleeping. Somehow, its absence made her feel lonelier, more bereft. Drifting.

She took a breath and opened her satchel, stacking the books onto her desk. Opening a book at random, she tried to drown out her misgivings with the words:

_There are several possibilities that can arise from temporal paradoxes. If one were to go back in time and prevent themselves from ever being born, it could potentially..._

* * *

"Ah," said Orion as Tom stepped into the Common Room. 

"It seems that our last member has arrived. Considering that I have specifically scheduled our meetings to accommodate your Prefect duties, it would do to be here earlier, would it not?"

Tom stared evenly into Orion's eyes. 

"I believe we agreed that the meeting would begin at eleven. Considering that I have arrived exactly at the scheduled time, it would do to refrain from accusing me of being late, would it not?"

Orion smiled, though his gaze darkened. "I am not accusing you of anything, dear Tom," he said. "It is merely a suggestion." He returned his attention to the newspapers and letters spread on the coffee table.

Tom let the 'dear' slide, because he had won the argument. He moved to sit beside Orion. Rosier and Lestrange were all too quick to scoot over; though he may have normally been simply a well-to-do Prefect with unfortunate backgrounds, here he was ranked above them all as Orion's second in command.

Not that he was acknowledged as such out loud. Oh no; that would be acknowledging that a _mudblood_ was in a higher position than them. 

Of course, he planned to change that. The thought of being beneath _Orion_ made his skin itch, but he could endure it as a stepping stone towards something higher. 

"Well, let us begin," said Orion. "As always, recent developments first, requests after and _only_ after. You start us off, Tom."

Tom flicked his wand and brought up the pertinent articles. "Small attacks linked to Grindelwald have started since late summer. None of the attacks are directly caused by Grindelwald, of course; he's claimed to currently be in eastern Europe. Even so, his acolytes have caused a good deal of hysteria, and the newspapers certainly aren’t helping calm the public."

“That’s hardly news,” said Rosier, scoffing. “Pretty much everybody and their kid knows that by now, Riddle.”

“I thought it should be said,” said Tom frostily.

“Well, now that it has,” said Rosier, “I think we can move on. You know that beast-loving idiot? Gryffindor, third year, freakishly tall?"

Ah; Rubeus Hagrid, if he remembered correctly. Tom doubted that there was a single person in the whole school who wasn't aware of the Gryffindor, if not simply because of his towering presence at mealtimes. There were rumors of him being half-breed giant, though nobody seemed to know for sure, and Hagrid certainly wasn't telling.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen him since the beginning of the year, had he?

"Oaf's nowhere to be seen this week, and I found out why. He didn't flunk out, surprisingly enough." A scowl crossed Rosier's face at that, though it was soon replaced by malicious glee. "He had to attend a funeral. Poor old dad died, isn't it a _shame_?"

Lestrange smirked. "What a shame," he agreed. "Was betting on him failing the exams, but I'm not complaining."

"Such a tragedy, though," said Rosier. He held a hand to his chest in mock-pity. "Such a horrible loss. In fact, when our little— er, gigantic friend comes back, we should have a surprise for him. You know, to help... cheer him up."

Orion raised an eyebrow exasperatedly. "I didn't say anything about allowing requests yet, did I?"

"Oh, lighten up, Orion. It's only a suggestion..."

"I'm sure your idea is interesting," said Tom, not interested in the slightest. "However, that can come later. Nott?"

Nott was the quietest of the members, and therefore one of the most observant. After a pause, he said, "Well, for starters, Crabbe has already received detention for being out after hours."

There was a collective groan. "Merlin," said Avery, "you'd think by now he'd at least be good enough not to get caught..."

"He didn't get points deducted yet. Probably because Slughorn knows that if he does, Slytherin will be out of the running for the rest of the year," said Nott off-handedly, before continuing.

"Let's see..." He began to tick off his fingers, one by one. "That new prefect in Hufflepuff, Smith, is ridiculously smitten with Herschwin. Hornby's got a rather nasty vendetta against Williams. Kettleburn's going to lose another body part, because he's planning on introducing chimaeras into the curriculum. Hagrid, as Rosier mentioned earlier, is absent... I suspect Prewett's next pranking target is Lucretia, since he was making eyes at her all of last year."

Avery made a face that was halfway between disgust and incredulity. "Prewett? And _Lucretia?_ "

"Why, lovesick?"

"No, but... Prewett? He doesn't have a chance in hell with her, come on..."

And they were back to bickering. Not that there was anything important so early in the school year. Tom shifted in his seat as the conversation continued to flow.

It seemed Orion had the same thought. "Alright," he said, cutting off Nott's stream of mutters and Avery's complaints. "I believe you had something to ask for, Rosier."

Rosier smirked. "Well..." he started. "Help would be nice. I've got a couple ideas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Become Heir of Slytherin, Tom, and you too could receive your very own evil gossip group! Malicious acts come at a premium rate!


End file.
